


Four Times Nancy Watched A Tupping (And One Time She Didn’t)

by aldiara



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bring Back The Porn Challenge, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 12:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: Over the years, Nancy’s perception of William and Margaret’s relationship shifts.





	Four Times Nancy Watched A Tupping (And One Time She Didn’t)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bring Back the Porn challenge, although it didn't end up being very porny.

***

The first time, Nancy barely notices the chap. They’ve been to a boxing match, she and Margaret, with culls and friends, and everyone’s completely foxed long before the evening’s over. Nancy stumbles over Margaret in the cramped little room where the boxers change. She’s got her skirts tucked up around her hips and is riding a dark-skinned bloke who’s got his hands on her tits and his mouth on her neck, and Maggie’s making urgent noises.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Mags. We need to go. Sal can only watch the girls till midnight.”

“Just…a… minute,” Margaret gasps, her face screwed up in almost comical concentration. “Almost… there.” 

Nancy snorts, and goes to wait outside. She never looks at the bloke at all. Maggie has her needs, but cocks are like rubbish along the Thames: an endless procession, one as unwashed and useless as the next.

***

The second time, Nancy walks in on them in the small room she shares with Margaret. They’re giggling and groping like a pair of maypole sweethearts, and Nancy has to fight a niggle of irritation. By now, the chap’s been round often enough that Nancy’s been obliged to learn his name. William North: a stern face, changed in startling ways when he smiles. A decent sort, apparently. Suffers no fools and sorts out trouble with no fuss; handy in a tight spot, and sweet-tempered with Maggie’s daughters.

All the same, there’s no denying the whole thing’s a right nuisance, with Margaret always distracted, running off to her trysts like she's fifteen again, leaving Nancy to mind the house and the girls by herself. 

“For God’s sake, must you?” she says crossly. “I’ve just whipped five backs bloody and I need to kip.”

William has the grace to attempt a sombre face, although his eyes still crinkle with laughter. Maggie brings that out in him; Nancy has never seen him laugh outside these walls. “Sorry, Nance. Won’t be a moment.”

“Oh, I can tell _that_,” Nancy retorts, with a withering look at his exposed, straining cock. Margaret bursts out laughing, and after a startled moment, so does Will. That bit gives Nancy pause, she has to admit: it takes a rare man to be able to laugh at himself at his most vulnerable. He doesn’t even soften.

She stands there and watches them hurry through the rest of it, though, tapping her foot just for the principle of the thing.

***

The third time’s in the little parlour, lit by the dying fire: ridiculous, romantic lighting, and usually Mags would be the first to laugh at it. Nancy, passing by the half-open door, hears their voices mingled in low, affectionate conversation, interspersed with Maggie’s breathy sighs and Will’s deeper groans.

They’re both naked: a rare thing, even in a whorehouse. Undressing fully is rarely practical, given the fashion; who has time to lace up stays and readjust stockings when you can just pull up your skirts and be done inside a minute?

This is different from business, though, even Nancy can tell. They’re moving without hurry, rocking together, gazing into each other’s eyes for all the world like a pair of proper lovebirds. Their limbs tangle and undulate in the soft caress of the fire’s light, dark skin and pale, a lovely contrast. When Margaret rolls to get on top, William smiles up at her, his hands spreading across her stomach. Margaret smiles back, and puts her own hands on top of his. 

Nancy frowns, following the motion, then belatedly understands the meaning of her friend’s recently altered moods; the slight swelling there is news to her, but clearly these days she’s not the first who needs telling things.

She sighs, then, catching sight of Will’s face and the expression in it. She gathers herself. She takes the grumbling, petty thing inside herself, looks at it plainly, and tells it to bugger off for good. Maggie deserves all the love she can get her hands on. Nancy may be broken as they come, but she knows what love looks like: she knows the look on William’s face is on her own as well, and Nancy’s love is not a miser. 

She just hopes William’s isn’t either.

***

The fourth time, Will is by himself. Margaret is lost beyond recall; the ocean between them might as well be the distance to the sun or whatever afterlife there is for whores.

He’s in the kitchen, late at night, thrusting in utter silence into his own hand. They’ve long been friends, but things are different with Maggie gone; neither of them knows how to fit themselves around the gaping loss between them. Still, they watch out for each other as best they can, and keep the girls safe.

Nancy watches him now: powerful shoulders sloped forward, shielding himself as if it is a weakness, this bare necessity of hidden release. His teeth dig into his lip, eyes squeezed shut as his hand moves on his cock. All day he’s been putting out fires, handling rivals, smoothing things over, keeping things tidy for the girls, the house, for Jacob.

Nancy, who is long past softer feeling for the acts of the flesh, stands in the shadows and finds herself moved by _this_ act - the solitary power of it, at once contained and spilling over with desolation. He reminds her of a story half-remembered, snatched up in passing from an overly cerebral cull: Atlas, bearing the weight of the world.

She moves along on stockinged feet, leaving him to his lonely climax.

***

The fifth time, they are resting, Margaret and she, in Nancy’s room after Maggie’s return as Mrs Young. Maggie has fallen asleep, felled by too much celebratory gin and the too-recent sea voyage. They’re lying on their sides, facing each other, Maggie’s hand curled in hers.

When Will comes in, Nancy puts a finger on her lips. He nods and softens his steps, but the conflicted frown on his face doesn’t lift at the sight of Maggie, loose-haired and looking so much younger in her sleep. In silence, he strips down to his shirt and fits himself behind Maggie, pulling her close with aching carefulness for a man of his size and strength.

Margaret smiles faintly in her sleep and wriggles back against him. Her hand stays wrapped around Nancy’s. 

Nancy doesn’t mind if they want to fuck; it’s been a year, after all, and she could go and find some business about the house. She lifts her brows at Will inquisitively. A year without Mags is a long time; long enough to grow close, to learn the language of a man’s face, especially a quiet man like Will.

He shakes his head at her, though, just gathers Mags in more closely so he can reach across and place his hand, lightly, atop hers and Nancy’s.

Nancy gives him a quick, sharp smile, watches his own lips move sideways in a twist that’s as much pain as humour. 

They lie in silence, hands entwined, listening to Maggie breathe.


End file.
